However, this week I had a somewhat belated revelation of gratitude. Usually on thanksgiving, I think to myself, "I'm thankful for my blessings"...it's pretty general, and all-encompassing. Then, I read a book called "Push", which is about a 16-year-old girl in Harlem who has it pretty rough- she has been raped by her father since she was a tiny child, which has resulted in 2 children; she is completely illiterate; her mother abuses her, and lives off welfare; and even when she runs away from her mother, she discovers she has AIDS. And not to spoil the ending for those of you who plan on reading (so if you don't want to hear the ending, skip to the next paragraph), but we never see her actually become something totally successful. The ending insinuates hope, and that she will soon be up to par to take a GED exam, so that's good.
The craziest thing about the book is that it is based on true events. It was sobering to read and realize that I have been born in a very wonderful, relatively easy life, and that I should not only appreciate it, but not take it for granted. I realized that I truly am grateful for my life. Yes, it is cliche, but it's totally true, and not some stock saying that I just use on thanksgiving.
Ok end of sappiness.